A Christmas Charade (19 page)

“Did you see the gentleman?”

“No. According to Beamish, he surpasses the Prince of Wales in stoutness and is exhausted after walking a mile. He hired two bedchambers and Mrs. Beamish’s parlor and hasn’t moved from his chair since his arrival. Sounds logical enough, I thought.”

“But?”

“That’s just it. I cannot find a but. Went to look at the carriage, and it’s true enough that one of the wheels is splintered.”

“What brought him here? After all, East Dean is not Brighton.”

“Told Beamish he’s from Shropshire, visiting relatives in Bournemouth. This morning, seeing the sun for the first time in days, he decided to go for a drive.”

Which sounded reasonable enough. Bournemouth wasn’t a great distance away, and visitors to the harbor town had always been attracted by the chalk cliffs of Beachy Head.

“Did you learn his name?”

“Morton. Anthony Morton.”

“And the niece?”

“Caught a glimpse of her on the stairs. A real beauty, if you like the dark, exotic kind. She ran back upstairs as soon as she saw me. She’s shy, Mrs. Beamish said. Hardly opens her mouth.”

Clive considered the matter. “Offhand, I’d say about Mr. Morton and his niece what you said about Miss Gore-Langton, that they are what they claim to be. But I wonder why Jed Beamish didn’t press the wheelwright to repair the carriage. It cannot be convenient to have to cater to customers at this time.”

After taking leave of Stenton, Elizabeth continued her tour of exploration in a halfhearted fashion. Preoccupied with the wager and even more so with the eventual outcome, she peeked into one or two of the chambers on the unused second floor. The shrouded furniture, the faded drapes on windows and beds were not enticing, and she quickly returned to the first floor.

When she discovered Stenton’s niece and nephew in the west wing, she was quite content to visit awhile. Grace and Adam were with their nurse Mrs. Gertrud Schwerdtfeger.
Schwerdtfeger!
Impossible to remember; difficult to pronounce. No wonder the good woman was called by her first rather than her family name as was her right.

Soon, Elizabeth was helping the children place a quantity of slim white candles in silver holders which had a clip attached to the base. She learned that the candles were destined for the Christmas tree, a beautiful fir Grace and Adam would fetch with their uncle the following day.

Nurse Gertrud, her knitting needles clicking away with alarming speed, shook her head. “I feel snow in my bones. A storm. I will not be surprised if we cannot push the door open in the morning.”

“Oh, no!” Grace looked at the old woman imploringly. “Dear Nurse Trudy, for once your bones must be wrong!”

“I want it to snow,” said Adam. “But Mr. Ponsonby said it doesn’t on the coast.”

“It does.” Elizabeth wriggled a candle into one of the narrow holders. “But usually not until later in the season.”

“There will be snow for Christmas,” Nurse Gertrud said firmly. “
Eine weisse Weihnachten
.”

Neither of the children argued, but Grace said, “Uncle Clive promised we’d have a Christmas tree—two trees—and a yule log. And he promised to take us to fetch them. He’ll think of something if it snows.”

Adam nodded, then started to tell Elizabeth that in Germany the
Christkindl
, accompanied by its helper
Knecht Ruprecht
, came to every house late on Christmas Eve. The
Christkindl
lit the candles while
Knecht Ruprecht
placed a toy from his pack beneath the tree for boys and girls who had been good throughout the year.

“And they’ll come here, too,” the boy concluded. “Because we’ll have the Christmas tree, and the candles must be lit.”

Elizabeth’s eyes twinkled. “Will the
Christkindl
and its helper overlook a toppled suit of armor and still leave a toy?”

“Oh, yes!” said Grace. “ ’Cause that was an accident. They wouldn’t expect us to know how to walk in all that clanking chain.”

“It wasn’t chain,” Adam protested, and immediately a lively squabble erupted between the siblings.

Exchanging a smile with the nurse, Elizabeth left the children’s quarters. But as soon as the high, excited voices faded behind the closed door, she wished she had stayed. At least, the twins had kept her from thinking about the interview with their uncle. About the wager.

And the disconcerting questions he had asked about her visit to the landing stage. He suspected her of something. That she was a member of the smugglers gang? That she arranged the sale of their goods? Ridiculous. Well, he planned to ask her further questions. This time, she’d have some questions of her own.

That subject dealt with, she had nothing to do but think once again about—

Giving herself a mental shake, she took the nearest set of stairs down to the Great Hall, crossed it, and, cowardly or not, returned to her chamber by a route that did
not
take her past the library.

Her thoughts awhirl, she closed the door and leaned against the wooden panels.

Her eyes swept the room. “Hello,” she said softly, breathlessly. “Are you here, ghost?”

Silence greeted her.

“I made a bet, ghost. With Stenton. And he demanded a kiss as the stake. What do you say? Does he think of me as a hard to fit puzzle piece, or has he started to regard me as a woman?”

Still only silence.

She pushed away from the door. There was no reason to feel disappointed. She had not truly expected a reply.

Preparation for luncheon did not take long. Elizabeth merely had to remove her spencer, a serviceable garment of dark blue merino that blended with the grays and dull blues she had chosen for her day gowns. These past years as a companion she hadn’t given much thought to colors and how they suited her, but as she checked her hair in the dressing mirror, she stopped for a good, long look.

Lud, she was the veriest homely Joan! Her face looked thin with her hair all scraped back. The soft gray of her high-necked gown, unrelieved by even the tiniest scrap of lace or ribbon, drained her of color. No wonder Stenton did not recognize her. She was but a shadow of her former self.

Her fingers tugged at the pins holding the tight knot at the base of her neck until her hair fell free. It was long and straight and heavy. Without hesitation, she took a pair of scissors from a drawer. A thin strand at a time, she cut off a good twelve inches all around. Released from a heavy weight, her hair bounced around her shoulders, and after she had brushed it a hundred strokes it even showed a hint of waviness.

She repinned it, but much looser, and had the satisfaction of seeing the thinness of her face transformed into elegant slenderness with arresting high cheekbones.

There was no point in changing her gown. With the exception of three evening gowns, all her dresses were of some drab, shadowy color. But she had the jewelry, unworn since her mother’s death. She could have sold the pieces and thus might have postponed the necessity for employment by a few years. But she could never bring herself to part from these mementos of her past life.

Slowly, Elizabeth unlocked the box and opened the first tier. Diamonds. A necklace, a bracelet, ear drops. Quite unsuitable.

The second tier held a pearl necklace and an assortment of brooches and pins. Her hand hovered over the necklace. Pearls and gray. ’Twould be just the thing. But so insipid.

Feeling quite daring, she picked out a brooch, a fine emerald nestled in a web of wrought silver. When pinned to the neck of her gown the gem reflected the green fire in her eyes.

But perhaps the light in her eyes was not due to the emerald after all. Perhaps it was due to the realization that she was deliberately, willfully setting out to catch Stenton’s attention.

Possibly, the wager had been the start of this purposeful scheme. She did not know. When she thought back on that moment, she did not recall a feeling of deliberateness, just recklessness and the urge to prove that she was not at all afraid of what he might remember.

Staring at her image in the mirror, she asked herself what had happened to the sensible, levelheaded woman of the past decade. Common sense had become submerged in uncertainty and embarrassment during the journey to Stenton Castle. Uncertainty had given way to pique, and thereafter her emotions and feelings had resembled a fleet of small fishing craft caught in a storm on the Channel, bounced and tossed and quite without direction.

She had found the direction she wanted to go, and nothing would turn her back. Not the small voice trying to shame her with a reminder of the impropriety of setting her cap so blatantly for the Duke of Stenton. Not the knowledge that she would in all likelihood end up as hurt as she had been eleven years ago.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Juliette’s and Lady Astley’s voices. Elizabeth draped a shawl around her shoulders, the beautiful paisley shawl Sir John and Lady Astley had given her last Christmas. She had hardly worn it, believing it too elegant for a companion. But today things were different. And the pattern contained a touch of emerald.

She went to Lady Astley’s chamber. Minter, Lady Astley’s maid was there, helping her mistress change.

“Elizabeth, my dear! How well you look.” Louisa Astley sat down at the dressing table to allow Minter to brush her fine gray hair. “I always said you needed a touch of color, and now I see I was right. You are positively glowing.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Is there anything I can do for you? Would you like your neck massaged?”

A neck massage had become a routine on Sundays when Lady Astley often returned from church with a throbbing ache at the back of her head. She said it came from sitting still so long in a hard pew and staring up at the pulpit, but on this day she declined Elizabeth’s offer.

“It’s not necessary, my dear. I have never felt better. Either sea air is the benefactor, or it’s having Stewart and Juliette with me.”

A look of sadness crossed her delicate features. Hesitantly, she said, “Something is not quite right between them. They try to hide it from me, but I can feel it. Do you know what it is, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth did not consider it her place to tell Stewart’s mama of his plans, especially since she knew of her employer’s weak heart. But she had never been good at dissimulation and could only pray that she met Lady Astley’s searching look with unconcern.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they have run into some of the difficulties all newly wed couples experience. Stewart and Juliette may have been married two years, but for all practical purposes, their union is only a few weeks old.”

She encountered an approving look from Minter—servants always knew more than one expected!

“Of course, that’s it,” Louisa Astley said, relieved. “They need to get used to each other.”

She smiled at Elizabeth. “Run along, my dear. I intend to give you a holiday while we’re at Stenton. If I want my neck rubbed, Juliette can do it. And if I want someone to read to me, why, there’s Stewart. He has a very pleasant reading voice, you know. And I never lack for entertainment while Lord Decimus keeps me amused with tales about the Prince of Wales and his set.”

Thus dismissed, Elizabeth knocked on Juliette’s door. Since she had slept all of the previous day, she’d had no occasion to find out whether Juliette had made progress in changing her husband’s mind.

Juliette, already changed from her walking dress into a gown of soft, rose-colored wool, opened immediately. A shadow of disappointment crossed her face, but she caught herself and smiled.

“Come in, Elizabeth. You look lovely. What have you done to your hair?”

Stepping into the room, Elizabeth closed the door. “I’m sorry I’m not the one you expected.”

Juliette turned her back. It seemed as though she would not reply, but after a moment she blurted out, “I wish I weren’t so damnably foolish!”

“Why are you foolish? Because you hoped it was Stewart knocking on your door when it would have been more logical for him to have used the connecting door?”

Juliette swung around. “He locked it. Yesterday. After I asked him to button up my gown. I didn’t bring my maid, you see, because I wanted him to help me. I wanted him to remember our honeymoon. But it didn’t work!”

“You quarreled?”

“It takes two to quarrel. I tried my best to shake him out of that reserve he shows me.” Juliette threw her hands up in a gesture of exasperation. “Stewart won’t quarrel. He won’t explain. He merely walks off, shuts the door and locks it.”

Elizabeth searched her mind for something encouraging to say. She could think of nothing. Her heart ached for her friend. She wanted to help but did not see how. Quite possibly it was nothing but a misunderstanding that kept the couple apart. Juliette was young and inexperienced.

But Stewart … he could not claim youth or inexperience to account for his behavior. Since Elizabeth had written the congratulatory letter for Lady Astley, she knew for a fact that Stewart had turned eight-and-twenty this past spring. And from remarks dropped by his fond parents she had gathered that before his marriage he enjoyed a certain reputation among the ladies of the muslin set.

No, Major Stewart Astley was not inexperienced. But he had lost an arm. Elizabeth felt sure there was not a man alive whose state of mind would remain unaffected by the gruesome surgery. Why, her body was racked with shudders at the mere thought of the surgeon’s saw.

“While I was sitting in church this morning,” said Juliette, “it was brought home to me that I have never celebrated a Christmas with Stewart. With his mother and father, yes. But never with my husband.”

“Stewart must feel it as you do. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Make him go with you to help bring in the yule log and the Christmas tree Grace and Adam told me about. Will there be carolers or mummers, do you suppose?”

“I don’t know.”

Juliette pulled a shawl of Norwich silk from a dresser drawer. She looked at it and frowned as if she couldn’t decide what to do with it and finally dropped it onto the bed.

“I don’t know
what
Clive has planned. I never had a Christmas with him either.”